


she's so lucky

by zukofenty



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Actress!Katara, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Makeup Artist!Zuko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukofenty/pseuds/zukofenty
Summary: The one where Zuko thinks loving Hollywood’s biggest sensation might kill him.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128





	she's so lucky

**Author's Note:**

> yes! this is based on the britney spears song!! say it with me yall #FREEBRITNEY

_These motherfuckers didn’t think I could do it, did they_? Katara thinks, clutching the trophy in her hand. Her hand is turning white, she’s triumphant, proud even. The reporters and photographers swarming the room makes her stomach churn. But she’s always been told: _don’t let anyone see the real you. No one likes the real you. You don’t even like the real you_.

So she pushes that feeling down, and plasters a familiar smile on her face. Mindless question after question, each one making her wish guillotining the rich, clueless, and beautiful was normalized (she’d obviously be the first in line). 

She thinks her heart could burst out of her chest. It was about to, with how tight her expensive dress is clutching to her. It was worth it, though. A byproduct of a recently launched partnership with Versace, the dress was nothing to be fucked with. Intricate ties, each one causing her ribs to beg for mercy, coupled with expensive looking rhinestones, a dangerous slit up her leg. Hama, her manager, showed her social media’s response before the award ceremony, when red carpet photos were released. Even Twitter bitches (the most critical of all bitches) were salivating over the gown, which Katara painstakingly spent hours choosing. Everything had to be  _ perfect _ . She had to be  _ perfect _ . 

She didn’t think she could be happier. Nothing could beat this. Not even the time when she was 16 and was America’s favorite pop star. She had released a duet with teenage heartthrob Jet that stayed number 1 on the charts for weeks to come. Not even the time she shotgunned a beer for the first time at 13, a night of first times. It was a party for the music industry’s youngest and brightest, and she remembered some 20 something actor let her snort a line for the first time as well. 

She thinks that was the last time she felt truly happy. 

That was before the stints in and out of rehab. Going through music video shoots too high to remember what line to mouth. It only made the pain of reality easier. The reality of losing a childhood to fame, losing your sanity even. She’d like to blame it on her label. They  _ pushed pushed pushed _ until Katara was suffocating under the pressure. Squeezing her of whatever she’s worth, to prepare for the moment she turned 25. The moment Leonardo Dicaprio was no longer interested in her pussy, her label was convinced no one else would be as well. “ _ The industry likes them young _ ,” her label would gently remind her, despite how numbing the meaning of the words actually were. 

So they  _ pushed  _ as hard as they could. And she had no choice but to submit. But, if they didn’t, she wouldn’t have won a Golden Toad Award right? She wouldn’t be the most talked about actress in the industry? 

Zuko’s always been proud of her. Especially now, when he’s smiling until his mouth aches, and his phone is complaining because he’s recording too many videos of Katara, taking too many photos. (He only has 5 GB worth of iCloud storage, and refuses to buy more). 

Her comeback to the industry was momentous. A miracle. 

Formerly a child star gone wrong, now the industry’s most in demand actress. Rumor has it she’s a focused actress  _ too  _ committed to the craft. Always demanding perfection from everyone around her. And it was proven with just her first film, her first moment back in the industry, and she’s already nominated for a number of Golden Toad Awards.

Though, he thinks he was more proud when she got her 6 month chip. 

“You know what they don’t tell you at AA?” Katara asks, clutching her lukewarm coffee with an iron-clad grip. 

“That the muffins taste like a chafed asshole?” Zuko replies, face blanching when he forces himself to take another bite. Broke bitches can’t be beggars, or however the saying goes. 

“That. And the fact that some of these bitches are judgemental  _ fucks _ !” Katara whisper-screams, throwing her hands up to the point where her coffee starts sloshing. 

“I can’t believe you insulted your fellow alcoholics,” Zuko laughs, face turning red with trying to hold back the joy in a somber environment. He stares down at his busted Vans, scuffed and dirty. 

“You would  _ think _ everyone here would understand me better than anybody else would, right? But the  _ moment _ I talk about the time I got drunk and tried to pretend to be Howie Mandel’s shower curtain and then got arrested for biting him, I get  _ judgement _ .” Zuko’s sniggering puts a smile on her face. “Dicks.” 

“You got your chip though, I’m proud of you.” Zuko’s smile is so genuine, it’s blinding. The most genuine thing she’s seen in awhile, especially in her silicon filled world. While her AA meetings royally suck ass, she’s glad she’s made a friend. He’s sweet, the nicest person in her home group.

  
  
  


At one point in her teen years, she was  _ everywhere _ . A multi talented star, interests vested in music, acting, philanthropy, asshole bleaching.  _ You name it _ , and Katara was all over it. You could buy lunch boxes and fleshlights with her face on it. She should have been happy, right? 

Happy when forty year olds would send her used fleshlights with a love letter praying for the day she turned 18. Happy when fans would find her phone number and text her right before she would fall asleep. They long have diligently memorized her schedule. The fans even took note when her insomnia would act up, adjusting their fan website schedule to account for her falling asleep at 5 or 6 in the morning. She should be happy her fans loved her  _ oh so _ much, even if she was terrified that if she fell asleep, she’d wake up trapped in the back of some van with her face embroidered on the seats. 

_ She should be fucking happy.  _

She reminds herself of this every day. She should be happy she made it out of a shithole of a town, that working nonstop since the day she turned 10 meant a steady income for her family. She couldn’t be a know-it-all brat anymore, she’s grown up and should act like it. That’s what her label has been telling her since she turned 11. That’s why her label fell in love with her at a random audition they were holding in her town’s largest mall. She was  _ sassy _ , a natural star. Her father fell for it. 

The memories are fuzzy, clouded in the smell of desperation and depression and underage drug usage. Somewhere along the line she thinks she developed an addition to everything  _ bad _ . Bad habits, bad relationships, bad press. She remembers a judge reminding her, during a sentencing hearing. (She crashed her car into a pole and tried to steal a vat of strawberry lemonade from a Weinersnitchel. Not her best moment). 

“ _ You want to keep trying to be Great Value Lindsay Lohan? Fine! If you keep going down this path, you will die, young lady. Or end up with ugly kids you know you don’t want who will be on Dr. Phil in 20 years talking about your neglect. _ ” 

“Couldn’t he see how hard I’m trying to die? But God, or Rihanna, or whoever the  _ fuck _ is up there won’t fucking let me!” she screams, throwing down the shovel. She was doing community service, trying to atone for her many mishaps over the years. The others condemned to similar fates were trying to ignore her, too tired to deal with a bratty star. 

She was tired, too. 

Tired of feeling like a fuckup. Tired of the Channel 7 news using a picture of her coked up with bleach blonde hair. It was better than Channel 5, who used a picture of her vomiting on a bouncer, who was captured trying to collect her vomit in a condom to sell on eBay. 

  
  


So she decided to get better. Go to AA, be less of a fuck up. The moment she walked in, despite being hidden in a hoodie three sizes too big and Gucci sunglasses, everyone recognized her. A guy even cornered her after the meeting that he had a poster of her in his room in middle school and wanted to buy a fleshlight, but his allowance was never enough. Her panicked look led to Zuko swooping in, and designated himself as her unofficial bodyguard for the rest of their time there. 

He always picked her up after his shift at Starbucks, and drove them to the meeting together. He even uses his post-shift drink for her (an iced Vanilla coffee). She, in turn, always tries to make him laugh, especially after a brutal shift when he wants nothing more but to sleep. But he takes night classes too, tries to help his uncle with his tea shop, and is an Uber driver on the side, to afford tutoring lessons for his half-sister struggling in Pre-Algebra.

He has—no,  _ had _ dreams of becoming an artist, or makeup artist, or graphic designer. When Zuko was given the career maps they give you in high school to help you try to decide your college major, it was always a mess. Two or three jobs being listed, his mind too undecided to come up with a final answer. He was a creative guy, busy with sketching in his notebooks instead of writing down which European prince fucked his sister or cheated on his wife. All he knew was that he wanted to  _ create _ . But dreams were never meant to come true for a guy like him. With a deadbeat dad, a fucked up home life. A mom who was never there, only appearing in his life when she all but dumped a half-sister on his lap to raise. He wants to blame his dad. Blame him for driving his mom away, for driving Azula insane with his precise expectations in academics. 

Sometimes, he thinks  _ he’s _ the problem. 

He always tried to push that negative thought away when he was younger. He thought his dad was just trying to rile any sort of emotion from him when Ozai would blame him. In the end, he wants to blame himself. It was easier than trying to wrap your head around the cruelty that he was constantly surrounded by. That’s why he thinks Katara and him get along so well. They were both so  _ incredibly  _ fucked up. That’s why when he tells Katara about his dad, she does nothing but hold him while he cries. 

“You were  _ never  _ the problem, ok? It was  _ never, ever  _ your fault.” She says this with the conviction of someone who needed those words said to them once upon a time. He hasn’t cried in a long time. It’s almost embarrassing he let himself go in front of a girl he’s known for maybe a few months. She was always the one talking whenever they were in the car. She leaves notes in his glove compartment when he’s not looking, some of them sweet, some of them just drawings of penises because she wants him to laugh. Yet, when he’s ripped raw from the stress and accidentally reveals too much during the AA meeting, Katara’s there to listen. To let him know  _ it’s ok _ . 

Katara’s all sweet smiles, and happy moments, and pure  _ understanding _ . Understanding what it felt like to be lonely, to feel like nothing could ever be right in your life, no matter how hard you pretend like it could be. He could be himself with her. There’s no Zuko the makeshift father, Zuko the Starbucks employee, Zuko the tea shop waiter, Zuko the addict. 

When he’s with Katara, he’s just Zuko. 

He makes a promise right there and then, decides it instantaneously, without a single thought. It was his responsibility to make sure nothing bad happens to her. 

He’s sure he loves her when she appears on his doorstep, cheeks flushed, as though she just finished scrubbing them clean. Iroh’s long gone to sleep, retiring after an entire day on his feet at the tea shop. Kiyi was still up, fists sometimes coming up to violently rub at her eyes, as though she could rub away sleepless nights spent intently focused on her math homework. Katara comes bearing math workbooks, clutched to her chest. 

“I had the best tutors growing up. The label paid for them, and I liked math,” she shrugged while giving her explanation. Zuko could only stare with his mouth agape as she effortlessly helped Kiyi solve equation after equation. While Zuko’s bloodshot eyes try to roam the essay he needs to turn into his Art History class, he looks across the living room to Kiyi’s spot at the dining room table. Katara’s far too pretty, an anomaly in his shitty apartment. The room, barely lit with a supply of steadily depleting light bulbs, became even brighter with the tinkle of her sweet laughter. Both Katara’s and Kiyi’s heads were low, facing each other as they swapped secrets. It was strange. Seeing a popstar from his childhood now only a few feet away, in big sweats and eating his shitty fried rice without complaint. 

//

“I think your sister likes me,” Katara proclaims one day after a meeting, eyes lighting up at the prospect of spending time with the young girl. She even baked rice krispies for the girl! Included some M&Ms because Kiyi  _ had taste _ and Katara appreciated her exquisite palate. 

Zuko grunts. “Please. First off, let’s get this shit straight. She’s  _ fake _ . She doesn’t even like me.” 

“You’re no fun!” She takes a sip from Zuko’s 7/11 slushie (without his permission). 

//

He wants to focus, but he’s so goddamn tired. The laptop keys feel heavy and greasy under his wobbly fingers. He made a promise to Katara, though. The first time he sees her upset is when he tells her he’s thinking of dropping out of school.

“Please, don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give up on a future that you could have,” she explains quietly, rubbing at his hands. They’re stained pink from a special drink he made for a crying forty year old woman who found out she failed to beat chlamydia for the fifth time. 

So he promised her he would stay in school. Make a future for himself, for Kiyi. 

In turn, she promised him she would go back to school, too. Enroll in the same night school next semester. 

It’s different from the Katara he knows now. 

He can’t decide if he likes this version of her. But she’s happy, so he decides, he’s happy, too. 

“This is more stressful than when a TSA agent tells you that your suitcase weighs 52 pounds and then you either have to pay the extra fee, flash them a nipple so they override the charge, or you move a hoodie into your carry on bag while everyone in line  _ watches _ ,” Katara whispers as Zuko powdered her forehead to prevent the stress sweats. It didn’t help that her costume was so heavy, a result of her role as The Painted Lady in the famous  _ Avatar _ superhero movie series. The Painted Lady was a fan favorite antihero, and Katara was nervous. Her first big role, her first big claim to fame in a decade. 

Hollywood was interested in her again after paparazzi followed her to an AA meeting one day, and she quickly became the media’s favorite comeback story. 

//

“Do you think you’re fucking Vin Disel!” Katara’s hand comes up to stop the inevitable upchuck bubbling at her throat. “News flash! I will literally scalp you if you keep thinking this is  _ Fast & Furious: Tokyo Drift _ !” 

Zuko smirks, swerving his Prius through a Target parking lot. He tries to ignore the screams of the paparazzi trying to capture a photo of Katara. “I was always a  _ 2 Fast 2 Furious _ guy. For the record, I consider myself more of a Suki, just without Ludacris and a pink Honda S2000.” 

“If you squint hard enough, the Prius looks like an S2000,” Katara says, face expressionless. 

Zuko pinches her cheek in retaliation. 

//

Her label typed up a new contract now that the public eye was back on her. She signed as fast as Howie Mandel called the cops on her. She tried to ignore the red flags. Ignored how they pushed her to insanity as a teen. This was a  _ real shot _ at a lasting career. She was tired of living off of meager copyright checks every time her songs were used in a YouTube video. 

Besides, Katara was always meant to be the star of the show. 

“My makeup artist is looking for an assistant!” Katara comes with more rice krispies, because she could. Kiyi texted Katara to let her know she was currently  _ too busy _ talking with a crush from her Algebra class, a guy with a penchant for eating rocks (a bad boy in the 7th grade, if you will). Though, Zuko thinks it’s her best friend Chungha. Katara keeps the secret as though her life depended on it. 

“This is the first time in five years I’ve had a rice krispy without weed in it,” Zuko admits, chomping on the sugary treat. 

“Come work with me? You still owe me from when we were in Walmart’s self-checkout line and you asked ‘how the hell is everything so cheap!’ And I had to run in my Gucci slides to the Prius before I got arrested for petty theft,  _ again _ ,” Katara says in between bites. 

“Katara, you were _ stealing _ .” 

“Zuko, it’s called  _ socialism _ .” 

He rolls his eyes. “My experience in makeup is working at the MAC counter where I did makeup for Quinceañeras, proms, and shade-matched housewives every time they redid their orange spray tan when they found out their husbands were fucking their secretaries and had a love child named Tony. Don’t think I’m qualified for the position.” 

Katara’s reassuring smile had him showing up the next day, beauty blender in hand patting away at her foundation while Suki intently observes his work. He’s sweating and he drops the beauty blender in her coffee. It’s worth it when Katara tries to hold back her laugh, and fails.

//

“It’s a Supreme hoodie, Katara.” 

“It’s vagina repellent, Zuko,” she smirks. No matter how ugly his streetwear purchases will be, nothing will stop her from stealing his hoodies. 

Zuko comes up from behind her, grabs her by the shoulder, and shakes her repeatedly. He’s excited, he can barely hold the feeling in his body. She’s in his apartment, every bit beautiful and elegant in one of her expensive gowns, the light shining through to illuminate her even more. 

He’s long moved his family out from the shitty apartment, now being able to afford a place close to movie studios. He’s booked and busy with clients. Kiyi goes to the best schools in the nation. All thanks to Katara. 

She’s dressed to the nines, about to make her first red carpet appearance for the film. He’s delicately touching up her lip liner while rubbing comforting circles into her back. 

“I’m scared,” she admits, eyes wide. 

“I’m right here, always here. Right next to you. And I will never leave.” 

“Like HPV?” 

His smile is all teeth. “Sure.” 

//

It was easy to pretend that things were easy with Katara.

They could joke, pretend they were still two struggling 20 somethings trying to figure out life. 

Nothing was easy, now. 

“She needs  _ help _ ,” Sokka grits out. 

Zuko still believes in her, even when he wants to cry. When she stumbles over lines and sets filming back a few weeks. The bright lights highlight how her beautiful face contorts in disgust at nearly everything. She’s  _ Katara  _ the star. She started believing she deserved better than what anyone was able to offer. She started believing in the PR relationship with Jet. She started believing in the people who wanted nothing but the money she could make, the profit she could generate. 

He wraps up Sokka’s knuckles, ignoring how queasy he feels at the sight of blood. 

“He looked and smelled like Pauly D’s pubes.” Sokka wails at the Neosporin Zuko rubs into his cuts. Another one of Jet’s cheating scandals, another fist fight Sokka serves his way. 

//

“You’re an ass filler away from becoming Khloe Kardashian!” Sokka reminds, hands gripping the wheel tight. Katara’s smile was light, effortless. Hair coiffed to perfection. A magazine shoot and interview checked off the list for the day, and Sokka was driving them back from a celebratory dinner at a local burger joint. They tried to get her to eat more than a few pieces of spinach. She politely declined their efforts. 

Katara gasps. “You’re a fucking  _ bitch _ . How dare you? You  _ know _ I’m more of a Kourtney. Kim on my off days. Kendall on my worst days.” 

Sokka pins her with a hard glare. “Either way. You take back cheating, ugly, community dick and expect everyone to ignore you posting proverbs on your Instagram story whenever we find out he has a new baby mama.” 

She’s spluttering, trying to say something back. 

“I’m tired of believing in someone who doesn’t want to believe in herself,” Sokka admits, resting his head on the steering wheel, all the joking disappearing from his voice. 

Zuko wants to barge into Katara’s room that night. They were supposed to have a sleepover, after all. But she cries herself to sleep, an ugly cry that has her choking on her own spit. She cries until she can’t feel her face. 

//

“You can’t keep doing this,” he says. He wants to scream it. He wants to shake her awake and tell her she can’t give up on life. 

“Then leave!” she screams. She wants the words to resonate with him, imprint into his mind and soul. 

“Stop saying that,” Zuko presses. 

She messily rubs at the mascara running down her face. “Don’t try to fucking fix me!”

It was easy to pretend with Katara. Pretend everything was fine when she’s polished and pretty and in her beautiful dress, with an even more beautiful trophy in her hand to attest to the hard work she’s put in. A symbol of prevailing, of  _ winning _ when the world wouldn’t give her a chance. It was easy to pretend that this was the old Katara, just with a new look. She says something that reminds him of their past, and it’s easy to ignore reality. The reality of Katara throwing her 6 month chip off her balcony. The reality that nothing was fucking fine. 

“I won’t do that. I’m here to be here for you. You know that.” 

She knew. She fucking knew. She knew better than to be like this. 

“Why not? Just fucking  _ leave _ . Leave like everyone else has in my life. Leave like the next person will.” She swipes at her wet chin. “The only people who have ever loved me are them.” She jabs at the signed cardboard poster. The entire thing is taller than Zuko, filled with messy signatures, encouraging messages, and even marriage proposals. She jabs, jabs, jabs until she punctures a small hole, and her acrylic nail has fallen off. It’s bloody and a mess, and Zuko is wracking his brain because it hurts him. It hurts him to love her. 

“Everyone fucking leaves, Zuko. Every person in my life leaves. Aang, Toph, Suki, even  _ Sokka _ . What makes you any different?” Her co stars from the film used to reach out to him, trying to see if he was able to convince her to go back to rehab. Aang and Toph cared. Suki was working for another studio, but still asked about her. Even when Katara lobbed a powder brush her way after a particularly rough day on set. She pushed too hard during a fight scene, and collapsed. But took it all out on the makeup artist, screaming at her until she cried. 

They’ve stopped trying in the last few months. The Golden Toad Awards was the first time they’ve seen Katara in a while. 

“Have you ever thought maybe, just  _ maybe _ , I don’t want you here? I want you to fucking go?” She wants these words to hurt, he could tell. 

Zuko groans. “Never.” He takes a breath in, trying to calm himself. “I have  _ never  _ thought that. Stop trying to get me to leave. It never works. You never gave up on me, and I will  _ never  _ give up on you. No matter how hard it gets. I love you.”

Katara scoffs. “They tell us growing up that love can fix everything? Love can make everything fucking better? Love breaks you. Love destroys you. Love makes you want to kill yourself. What’s so fucking great about it? Tell me, Zuko! Enlighten me!” She screeches, slamming a shaky fist on her dining room table. 

Zuko opens his mouth to respond but then Katara stops him. 

“I love you, too,” she says, barely a whisper. Barely loud enough for him to hear. “But everything I touch turns to fucking shit. Everything around me, about me is a  _ mess _ . And Zuko, you’re so  _ good _ . You’re the only good thing in my life, the only thing I haven’t fucked up yet. And I know I will. You know I will.” He wraps her up into his arms, and she lamely tries to push away. She’s exhausted, and her body craves his gentle embrace. 

“Leave,” the word is garbled in between her sobs. 

“Never.” 

She cries into his shoulder. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I want better for you! Can’t you see that? Can’t you fucking see that?” Zuko could hear the pain behind her words.

He holds her as she cries, holds her when she’s gasping for air, body worn out from the emotional rollercoaster of the night. “Don’t go,” she finally admits. She says it as though it was a secret, as though Zuko hadn’t already made up his mind. 

“I don’t want to, Katara. I don’t want to.” Zuko swipes at his own angry tears. “Sometimes loving you hurts me. Sometimes...fuck. I just can’t do it. But I  _ want  _ to keep trying. Because I believe in you. I always have, and I always will.” 

She holds onto him as hard as she could, squeezing as though her life depended on it. 

**Author's Note:**

> omg I posted this for like 10 seconds yesterday and DELETED IT because this is sad and sad is not really my brand :'( dumb bitch is much more my brand! anyway I promise I'll be posting some happy stuff together soon I just had to get this shit out there you know what I mean!! it hurt and I'm sad!!!
> 
> I might delete it again because I am ugly and a libra but we shall see
> 
> girl why the hell ao3 keep deleting my notes anyways send in prompts !! I want to write what the people want ! I love yall hopefully this didn't make you too sad I am sad!!!!


End file.
